Whitebark Stream the stars, the moon, they have all been blown out

every day she found some moment to be reminded of her gratitude for Artyom's steadfast presence in her life. here was a family whole and loved, a mate and father that each day minded not only his family, but also the pack as a whole. she did not know what she would do without him, especially now that the pups were growing more mobile, and apt at finding trouble for themselves. as the evening dimmed, she had set herself on the trail of her rabbit-boned daughter, who'd vanished on some new adventure. she was an irritating echo of herself at that age, and she was beginning to understand her father's frustration with herself and her brother, all those years ago, with new clarity. she paused a moment as she thought of him, content that now his memory lived in the tales she told her children. 

"juniper!" she called, tone clipped and short. tail twitched; the girl was close, but either totally engrossed in some adventure or purposefully hiding. she huffed, scanning the treeline a moment before moving on, remembering a moment later that she ought to be scanning the lower branches of the trees as well as the ground below. gods, what an annoying whelp she'd been.

He was rarely far from Dawn, not nearly as bold as his sisters who seemed increasingly eager to taste freedom as they grew. He was naturally mischievous, but never enough to earn the matriarch's wrath. So when he heard Juniper's name echo through the trees, made sharp on his mother's tongue, Winter Whitebark's raven lobes smoothed back against his crown.

It was not him who the she-wolf called for, but he felt the sting of her ire all the same. Obedient only for her, Winter abandoned his rummaging in the dirt to trot in her direction. "Mатушка," he said softly as he moved in to affectionately press his peppered flannk to her hind limb, and wagged his tail almost sheepishly as he dared to ask: "where she go?"

it is not her wayward daughter who calls back, but rather her ever-obedient son. smile creases her features despite the tiny pang of panic lodged fast in her chest, and she pauses a moment to reach over and place a kiss upon her son's forehead. "zima," she greets, pulling back a moment. "your sister's being silly. want to help me find her?" she needs something to make this lighthearted. 

the dark cloud that hung over the pack made her all the more fervently protective of her brood. it was hard to hide from them her fear, her doubts, hard to be the overbearing parent that as a child she'd sworn never to be. what would grayday do? became an oft-asked question as the pack had to contend with deaths and disappearances, while, somehow, her family remained whole and happy and untouched. with each passing day, her fear for the impending disaster that would change that grew. but for the son before her, she could only smile and offer a gentle wag of her tail.

His mother welcomed him with affection, and Winter crooned lovingly as he beamed up into her smiling face with a bright grin of his own. He did so encouragingly, having sensed her uncertainty; his company could be far better than Juniper's. 

"Juni is always silly," he giggled, satisfied with this observation. Winter considered both of his sisters to be difficult and he, of course, to be the golden child. So with a happy little wiggle forward, he chirped: "I help!"

smile stretched across her features, with a playful poke of her muzzle, she agreed. "yes, she is," something snaps off to the right; perhaps 20 meters away. tail-tip twitches, but she looks down to her son. 

"do you know where she might be?" she asks, auds pressed in the direction of the snapped twig, waiting to hear something more.